where there would be other people I also wouldn’t be able to remember, all of whom had nothing more in common with me than having briefly attended the same school twenty years previously.
But I supposed anything might be preferable to sitting through another excruciating dinner with my mother and stepfather.
“OK,” I said. “I will.”
“Great,” Ginny said.
So I did.
T he evening proved to be better than I had expected, and I so nearly didn’t go.
By seven o’clock the rain was falling vertically out of the dark sky, with huge droplets splashing back from the flooded area between the house and the stables.
I looked at my black leather shoes, my only shoes, and wondered if staying at home in front of the television might be the wiser option. Perhaps I could watch the weekly motoring show and use it to bully my mother further over her car.
Well, perhaps not, but it was tempting.
I decided instead to find out if it would be possible to pull a Wellington boot over my false leg. I suppose I could always have worn only one boot while leaving the prosthesis completely bare. I don’t think the water would have done it much harm, but the sight of a man walking on such a night with one bare foot might have scared the neighbors, to say nothing of the people in the pub.
I borrowed the largest pair of Wellies I could find in the boot-room and had surprisingly little difficulty in getting both of them on. I also borrowed my mother’s long Barbour coat and my stepfather’s cap. I set off for the Wheelwright Arms relatively well protected but with the rain still running down my neck.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” said Ginny, as I stood in the public bar removing my mother’s coat, with pools of water forming on the bleached stone floor. “Not with the weather this bad.”
“Crazy,” I agreed.
“You or me?” she said.
“Both.”
She laughed. Ginny was trying very hard to make me feel welcome. Too hard, in fact. She would have been better leaving me alone and enjoying herself with her other guests. Her husband didn’t like it either, which I took to be a good sign for their marriage. But he had no worries with me. Ginny was nice enough but not my sort.
What was my sort? I wondered.
I’d slept with plenty of girls, but they had all been casual affairs, sometimes just one-nighters. I’d never had a real girlfriend.
Whereas many of my fellow junior officers had enjoyed long-term relationships, even marriages, both at Sandhurst and in the regiment, I was, in truth, married only to the military.
There was no doubt that I had been, as I remained, deeply in love with the army, and I had certainly betrothed myself to her , “forsaking all others until death do us part.”
But it seemed it wouldn’t be death that would do us part: just the small matter of a missing foot.
“So what do you do for a living?” Ginny’s husband asked me.
“I’m between jobs,” I said unhelpfully.
“What did you do?” he persisted.
Why, I thought, didn’t I simply tell them I was in the army? Was I not proud to be a soldier? I had been before I was injured. Wasn’t I still?
“A banker,” I said. “In the city.”
“Recession got you, did it?” he said, with a slightly mocking laugh in his voice. “Your trouble was too many big bonuses.” He nodded. He knew.
“You’re probably right,” I said.
There were seven of us standing in a circle near the bar. As well as Ginny and her husband, there were two other couples. I didn’t recognize any of them, and none of the four looked old enough to have been at school with me.
One of the men stepped forwards to buy a round at the bar.
“Should I know any of these?” I said quietly to Ginny, waving a hand at the others.
“No, not these,” she said. “I think the weather has put some people off.”
I was beginning to wish it had put me off as well when the door of the pub opened and another couple came in, again dripping water into puddles on
But I supposed anything might be preferable to sitting through another excruciating dinner with my mother and stepfather.
“OK,” I said. “I will.”
“Great,” Ginny said.
So I did.
T he evening proved to be better than I had expected, and I so nearly didn’t go.
By seven o’clock the rain was falling vertically out of the dark sky, with huge droplets splashing back from the flooded area between the house and the stables.
I looked at my black leather shoes, my only shoes, and wondered if staying at home in front of the television might be the wiser option. Perhaps I could watch the weekly motoring show and use it to bully my mother further over her car.
Well, perhaps not, but it was tempting.
I decided instead to find out if it would be possible to pull a Wellington boot over my false leg. I suppose I could always have worn only one boot while leaving the prosthesis completely bare. I don’t think the water would have done it much harm, but the sight of a man walking on such a night with one bare foot might have scared the neighbors, to say nothing of the people in the pub.
I borrowed the largest pair of Wellies I could find in the boot-room and had surprisingly little difficulty in getting both of them on. I also borrowed my mother’s long Barbour coat and my stepfather’s cap. I set off for the Wheelwright Arms relatively well protected but with the rain still running down my neck.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” said Ginny, as I stood in the public bar removing my mother’s coat, with pools of water forming on the bleached stone floor. “Not with the weather this bad.”
“Crazy,” I agreed.
“You or me?” she said.
“Both.”
She laughed. Ginny was trying very hard to make me feel welcome. Too hard, in fact. She would have been better leaving me alone and enjoying herself with her other guests. Her husband didn’t like it either, which I took to be a good sign for their marriage. But he had no worries with me. Ginny was nice enough but not my sort.
What was my sort? I wondered.
I’d slept with plenty of girls, but they had all been casual affairs, sometimes just one-nighters. I’d never had a real girlfriend.
Whereas many of my fellow junior officers had enjoyed long-term relationships, even marriages, both at Sandhurst and in the regiment, I was, in truth, married only to the military.
There was no doubt that I had been, as I remained, deeply in love with the army, and I had certainly betrothed myself to her , “forsaking all others until death do us part.”
But it seemed it wouldn’t be death that would do us part: just the small matter of a missing foot.
“So what do you do for a living?” Ginny’s husband asked me.
“I’m between jobs,” I said unhelpfully.
“What did you do?” he persisted.
Why, I thought, didn’t I simply tell them I was in the army? Was I not proud to be a soldier? I had been before I was injured. Wasn’t I still?
“A banker,” I said. “In the city.”
“Recession got you, did it?” he said, with a slightly mocking laugh in his voice. “Your trouble was too many big bonuses.” He nodded. He knew.
“You’re probably right,” I said.
There were seven of us standing in a circle near the bar. As well as Ginny and her husband, there were two other couples. I didn’t recognize any of them, and none of the four looked old enough to have been at school with me.
One of the men stepped forwards to buy a round at the bar.
“Should I know any of these?” I said quietly to Ginny, waving a hand at the others.
“No, not these,” she said. “I think the weather has put some people off.”
I was beginning to wish it had put me off as well when the door of the pub opened and another couple came in, again dripping water into puddles on
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